Ownership

When my son, Kaleb, was twelve months old, he loved to climb up on our dining room table.  This was not a sight for the weak of heart, since hardwood floors would greet his skull, should he ever fall off.  Over and over again, I lifted him off the table, told him not to do that, and he’d climb right back up there.  It made me crazy.  Finally, I decided to give him a choice.  The next time he did it, rather than tell him to get down, I just asked him what he wanted me to do when he fell off.  Should I take him to the doctor? Kiss his owie?  What?

Of course, he wasn’t able to verbalize an answer, but he fully understood the question.  He looked at me, thought about it, and climbed down off the table himself and never went back up there again.

This sense of ownership, I discovered, is also important in the workplace.  Years ago I attended a management class where we were told of a true story about two brand new fire trucks.  In one city, the fire chief had gathered all the materials available to study what vehicles were available and he bought the fire truck that he felt would work best for his men.  The other city, which I remember was Portland, Oregon, the fire chief gathered the information and gave it to his firemen to decide for themselves which fire truck they wanted. 

At a conference soon thereafter, the two chiefs were talking about their new trucks.   The chief from Portland was raving about his truck and how much his men loved it, how protective they were of it, and that they polished it every chance they got.  The other chief said he’d had the opposite experience.  His men were complaining about every detail of it and didn’t embrace it at all.  Turns out, they both had purchased the exact same truck.  The only difference was, the Portland chief let those using it make the decision; the other hadn’t.

For years I’ve been fighting a losing battle with my son over the condition of his bedroom.  His floor has been “missing in action,” as the piles of papers, clothes and miscellaneous entertainment paraphernalia cover it from one end to the other. 

A couple months ago we happened upon Ikea and as we walked through the store, Kaleb started eyeing shelving units and bedroom furniture he thought would be nice to have in his room.  It was worth a shot, I thought, as I remembered the story of the fire trucks.  A few hundred dollars later, he now has a place for everything, and surprisingly, everything stays in place. 

His room as well as his attitude have been transformed.   I’ve even heard him say the words, “I really need to clean my room,” and I honestly don’t know what he’s referring to, since to me, nothing seems to be amiss.  Ownership, apparently, was the key.